


Life's No Storybook

by Mireille



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Community: gilesxander, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-31
Updated: 2007-10-31
Packaged: 2019-03-17 09:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13655901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: "Fairy tales don't end with the prince going home to get his suitcase and his shiny new passport, acquired for the honeymoon he won't be going on, and maxing out his credit card on a round-trip ticket to England. "





	Life's No Storybook

One of the--God, he doesn't even know what their job titles are, but one of the  _horde_  of people that you apparently have to hire so that you can put together a wedding, anyway--described the design for the decorations as "a fairy tale." As in, "once upon a time, there were a guy and his ex-demon girlfriend, and they got married and lived happily ever after, the end."   
  
He's pretty sure the wedding lady was wrong, and not just because it looked kind of... cheap and thrown-together at the last minute. More because it was a lot more like Godzilla smashing Tokyo.   
  
Fairy tales don't end with the not-exactly-handsome-but-not-breaking-any-mirrors prince going home to get his suitcase and his shiny new passport, acquired for the honeymoon he won't be going on, and maxing out his credit card on a round-trip ticket to England.   
  
And he's probably not going to get a "happily ever after"--not with Anya, definitely, and probably not at all.   
  
This isn't a fairy tale, though, so he's not really expecting one. He's just decided that he's sick of hiding and lying and pretending, and there are some conversations it's better to have face to face.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
He's not a coward as most people would define the term; he knows that. He's been a Watcher for most of his adult life; he's faced things that anyone would be justified in running from.   
  
But he's run from situations that can't be researched or staked or magicked out of existence; it's easier to face demons than situations that leave him out of his depth, emotionally speaking.   
  
And now Xander's standing in his living room, still wearing a bedraggled tuxedo, and Rupert's instinct is to run--emotionally, if not physically; to call Buffy and tell her Xander's here and he'll be on the next flight back to Los Angeles.   
  
Xander's waiting for the answer to his question, though, and Rupert draws a deep breath and says, "Yes. Yes, I do want to know why you're here."  
  
It doesn't make up for any of his previous cowardice, but it's a start. 

* * *

  
  
  
  
_Before you say anything stupid,_  Xander reminded himself,  _remember you're in England._  Not that England itself was any reason to not make an idiot of himself; but being thousands of miles from home was probably not the best time to completely alienate the one person here he even  _knew_.  
  
But Giles wanted to know why he was here, and Xander wanted to get it over with--so he took a deep breath and said, "Hypothetically, what would you say if I told you I think I'm in love with you?"  
  
The heartbeats between question and answer seemed to take forever. 

* * *

  
  
  
  
"Hypothetically?" Rupert repeated, not certain what he was doing. Whether pushing for a less guarded declaration might simply push Xander into retracting it instead.   
  
"No," Xander admitted finally. "Not hypothetically."   
  
And that was all he said for a very long moment, until Rupert said, softly, "Then I would ask you, 'What took you so long?'"  
  
Xander frowned at him. "I was  _engaged_. And straight, or at least I thought--or anyway I was trying hard to think I was--and it's not like you were making it easy to... And you seriously weren't asking for an explanation, were you."  
  
Rupert shook his head.   
  
"And right now I'm wasting time that could be spent kissing you."  
  
"Yes," he said, and Xander stepped forward into his arms. 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
Xander's on the phone for an incredibly long time, and when Giles stands in the hallway outside the closed bedroom door, at least half the words he can make out are some variation of "sorry." When he comes out, his eyes are bright and bloodshot, and for a moment all he does is hold onto Giles, his face buried in Giles' sweater for a moment before he can say anything.   
  
"That was horrible," Xander says, his voice still muffled by dark blue wool. "But--I don't know. I needed to make sure she knew right away."  
  
"How did she take it?" Giles asks, because it's something to say, something to keep Xander talking.   
  
"I left her at the altar this--I mean, yesterday afternoon," Xander says. "How do you think she--" Then he breaks off. "You know, though, I kind of think it helped." He manages a weak smile. "At least she can blame it on me being kind of gay. You know, it's not her, it's me." He shrugs. "She says she's decided not to eviscerate me with the grapefruit spoons we got for a wedding present, so there's a good thing."  
  
Quite a good thing, actually, as Giles isn't entirely certain Anya is comfortable enough with hyperbole for him to  _not_  have taken that threat seriously. At least her better nature seems to have won out, he thinks, and that's peace of mind for both of them. Xander still cares for her, obviously, and as for himself, Anya's his business partner. It will be... awkward, to say the least, but it could be worse.   
  
But right now, Xander's leaning against him, exhausted, and Giles puts aside all thoughts of that particular confrontation (he's sure they'll have it, skirmish after skirmish until finally, somehow, a truce is achieved), in favor of attempting to steer Xander back into the bedroom before he falls asleep where he's standing.

* * *

  
  
  
  
This changes everything, Xander thinks when he wakes up in the morning with Giles' arm still wrapped around him, holding him close.   
  
Him and Giles? He's not going to say he's never thought of it. Of course he's thought about it; that's why he came here in the first place. But his imagination only gave him the X-rated parts. It hadn't even mentioned the possibility that Giles would let Xander talk about nonsense until he finally burst forth with the entire story of what had happened at the wedding, and then would talk soothingly to him about nothing much, rubbing his back and stroking his hair, until he fell asleep.   
  
It hadn't mentioned that Xander would wake up in the middle of the night and realize that Giles was awake, propped on one elbow, watching him, or that his expression would hold something soft and content and--kind of frightening, really, because he wasn't used to seeing Giles look that open, that vulnerable. He'd closed his eyes again quickly, not knowing how to react.   
  
His imagination had never told him that this was going to change so much. That this was going to change  _everything_.   
  
He thinks about that all morning; Giles cooks breakfast while Xander soaks in the shower, and then they go out--Xander in borrowed sweats and a t-shirt--so Xander can get something to wear other than a tux the rental place is never going to take back now.  
  
Sometime after lunch, when Xander's changed into some of his new clothes and they're wandering around so he can see some of the sights, it hits him--almost literally; he stands there for a few seconds, blinking, as he realizes that this feels familiar. This feels like two years ago, when Buffy and Willow were at college and he and Giles were spending so much of their free time together. If it's different at all, it's only because he's being honest about why he's there, about what he wants.   
  
They could have had this all along, he thinks, but now they can make up for lost time.   
  
Giles stops, noticing that Xander has fallen behind. "Are you all right?" he asks, turning around.   
  
Xander smiles. "I'm going to be," he says, and lets Giles reach out for his hand.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
"I could get used to this," Xander said quietly, and Giles wasn't sure why the pronouncement sounded so wistful. It wasn't as though "this" was anything that could never be duplicated again: Chinese takeaway and an evening spent on the couch were hardly rare commodities. For that matter, apart from the way they'd let their food get cold because they were far too preoccupied with one another, it was nothing they hadn't done before.   
  
Then Xander sat up and squared his shoulders, and Giles fancied he could almost see the barriers coming up between them. "Guess I shouldn't, though, huh? I mean. I'm going to have to go back to work one of these days, and this--" He shook his head. "I'm going to be paying off the Visa bill for  _this_  flight for six months, at least. I can't keep doing this."   
  
Giles realized that there was something he'd meant to tell Xander earlier, something that he'd somehow assumed Xander had realized. "I'm not asking you to," he said, and went on quickly when he saw the pained twist of Xander's mouth. "I had already realized before you even rang me that coming back here had been a mistake," he began, "but I, er. I didn't quite know how to broach the subject with Buffy. And now that I have more than one reason to return to California--"   
  
"You're coming back?" Xander blinked for a moment, dumbfounded with relief, and then repeated himself. "You're coming back. To stay?"  
  
"If that's what you want."  
  
"Don't tell me you had to  _ask_ ," he said, and the dazzling grin he gave Giles reassured him that this was the right decision after all.

* * *

  
  
  
  
It wasn't like anything was magically perfect.   
  
Anya had slapped Xander in the face the first time he'd seen her, and then went on an extended "leave of absence" from the Magic Box. Rupert kept her on the payroll--he said it was the least he could do--and the checks got cashed, but no one had seen her for a while.   
  
Buffy was still about as miserable as could be expected from someone who was in Sunnydale instead of heaven. Willow still worried him--a lot--but at least she was trying. And Dawn spent a lot of time in Xander's--in  _their_  kitchen, which Xander figured at least meant kept her out of trouble.   
  
But they'd been back for about a month now, and things were starting to come together: Xander had finally managed to rearrange things to make room for Rupert's stuff, and was building bookshelves on the weekends so that Rupert could have his library shipped over from England. Everybody had gotten mostly-used to the idea that the two of them were together; at least, if it bothered them, they didn't say so, and that was good enough for Xander. They'd adjust, in time.   
  
And in between everything else--worrying and being afraid for his life and being so fucking  _tired_ , after a day of work and a night of research, that he'd have sold his soul for a pack of No-Doz--Xander would look over at Rupert, sometimes, and realize that he wouldn't have traded what they had now for anything.  
  
Maybe, for people like them, that was as close to a happy ending as they got. 


End file.
